~ |Avanti| ~

I had never seen a face so perfectly square before.

Nikhil looked like his barber used a sliced bread as his stencil while shaving along his hairline, not even bothering to use scissors. That was how cleanly, angularly square his face was, as if his skull was compressed in a machine used for making neem soap bars. It was distracting me every other minute, to the point where I had to ask him to repeat his opinion on India's athletic future thrice.

Not that I cared about his views on sports. The guy had thirty minutes to make conversation with me in private—or at least three tables away from our families—and this is what he thought was an important topic. The worst part was, he was first the prospective groom who hadn't run away after our first arranged marriage date yet. Two hadn't made it past the first course, one glance at my open toed flats and unabashed royal toes was enough to make them stutter excuses and return to the big table, to their mommies. I wasn't sure if it was a dominance thing or a foot fetish thing, either way, it was a bummer. Then the third guy and his family came along. Charming, funny and liberal. So liberal that both son and (as I later found out while driving home) parents took it upon themselves to mention, several times, that they believed in allowing women to work, or being totally fine with naming daughters as their successors, that they totally treated sons and daughters equally, that they would rather go for a temple or court marriage before demanding dowry.

Papa told me the anti-dowry insistence was brought up seven times during their main course. Twice by the guy's mother, five times by his father, until my own mother smiled and snapped, "Acha hi hai, ab jo paise jama kiya tha use ek SUV khareed lenge. Haina Vinod?"

I wasn't there, too busy tolerating the same liberal values from their son two tables away, but Ma said their faces visibly paled before the guy's mother cleared her throat and with an air of practiced nonchalance asked, "Kitna jama kiya hai waise?"

But Nikhil was nice. Relatively. Square-faced, twenty-nine, software engineer, works in Gurgaon, lives in Noida, family from Banda, loves AR Rahman. The best part? I hadn't noticed him looking at my feet. Worst part? I now knew more about his detailed opinions on Kohli and Shami and Pandaya and Sharma than his stance on kids.

"Yaar ab itna interesting bana diya hai cricket tumne, agli baar match pe chalenge." I was testing waters, since in over twenty minutes not once had he indicated his plans for the future.

His face lit up. "Yes definitely. I've got a friend working in IPL sponsorships, tickets ka jugaad easy hai."

It wasn't clear if he was excited about another date with me or watching Bangalore lose again. The tiny affirmation was, however, enough leeway for me to take the reigns of the conversation. It was one thing to be careful about my natural tendencies of coming off as too strong but letting him talk had been a bad idea. He clearly didn't know how to broach relevant topics.

He did like to talk about himself though. Maybe using that would be more helpful than hoping for any probable future planning. "Kisi aur ladki ko bhi le gaye ho kya?"

Nikhil leaned back, wiping his hands in a tissue after dipping them in the fingerbowl in front of him. "I've had a hard luck with girls."

"How so?"

"Tenth class ke bachpane mei bachpan ka pyaar hua. She led me on, I think she liked the attention. Then after six months and my messed-up board results, she acted surprised and told me I'm like her brother, that she doesn't believe in having boyfriends before college. I would've believed that if she hadn't started going out with another guy a week later."

I deducted a point from him for still being salty about tenth grade drama but didn't interrupt him.

"Phir dusra pyaar engineering third year mei hua. She was a junior and actually said yes. Mai Mumbai se Noida aa gaya placement ke baad, and our plan for the one year of long distance was for her to get placed in NCR too. Easy enough really, she had good grades but she switched last minute, wouldn't understand our dilemma, and stayed in Mumbai only."

"And you couldn't switch jobs?"

"I was about to be permanent, with a bigger salary. She'd have joined as a trainee, it would've been easier for her."

"Maybe she didn't want to leave Mumbai, is her family there?"

"Yes but shaadi ke baad toh aana hi padta na, starting se hi she didn't want to make any efforts."

"Unlike you of course." My sarcasm was difficult to hide. And even his self-obsessed square head got the drift.

"You're taking her side?"

"I don't care enough to take any side, just pointing out the obvious."

"I told you we had a plan!"

"And she was what? Twenty-one? Two?" I knocked off three more points from Nikhil's pros list. "You expect her to not change it if something better comes along?"

"Why are we doing this?" he asked, back so straight I felt an ache just looking at it. "This is about us, not my exes."

He acknowledged an us. Progress, I guess. Might as well let it go. "Right, us." My eye caught Papa's, he raised his brows, a silent inquiry. I gave him a tiny nod. No need for backup yet. "Ask away."

"Have you had..." Right angled corners of his forehead strained red as he cleared his throat, trying again. "Have you ever been...intimate with anyone?"

I understood his concerns. Didn't sympathize or agree, but understood. That didn't mean my ears hadn't warmed up in indignation. Fighting the temper, I managed a curt, "Yes."

"In that case," his voice caught as he scrambled for an excuse, looking at his own parents. His mother had risen, and my eyes caught the screen of his phone. Fucker was on call with his mom the whole time. How had my own parents not noticed? Was she wearing an ear pod? What the fuck?

"I'm guessing ab tu IPL tickets nahi jugaad payega?"

Any other situation and I'd have enjoyed his SpongeBob face turning red under pressure, but his next words made me ball my fists under the table. "It was nice meeting you Avanti, I'll just, umm..." Nikhil almost tripped while backing away, rushing towards our parents' table.

"Bhaad mai ja." Okay so came out louder than acceptable. My next words further rose in decibels just so they could reach him. "Tu un dono ko yaad bhi nahi hoga. They probably complain about your insecure ass to their far superior partners now. Fattu insaan!"

I could see his mother muttering angrily as the three of them shuffled out. Ma called a waiter to pack the twelve gulab jamuns they'd ordered for their table which had been left untouched. Of course, they ran without paying.

Papa had taken Nikhil's seat across from me. "Kya hua?"

"Chauka maara maine, aur kya hua."

~.~

"Alright people Neeti had an emergency so I'm in charge." I looked around at my of team cooks and chefs. Barring Mukta, all men. It didn't matter, they were professionals and had been taking orders from Neeti since I joined as sous-chef last year. Unexpected early labour meant the hotel hadn't been prepared to appoint her temp before she went on maternity. Cue my promotion, however temporary, to hold the torch. 

More than professional goals, I couldn't afford to let Neeti down. "We've to prepare five main courses, seven starters and three deserts for the dinner buffet spread. There's a group of intellectuals and vloggers with massive followings descending as soon as their conference ends so the food will definitely reflect our establishment today. Rajiv what's the status of soups?"

"Black peppered pea and broccoli for in veg, and corn chicken for non-veg, both served with breadsticks and mini-croissants on the side. I've also included a simple tomato shorma to be safe. Salad spreads mai tofu-topped lettuce, carrots and olives marinated in spicy red chili curd and another plain boiled egg and tomato salad."

"Good." Rajiv wasn't a problem, he liked his corner station and was friendly with all assistant cooks. Nishant, on the other hand, had been inline for his own promotion to sous-chef before they hired me. I was yet to figure out his vibe. He never knowingly sabotaged me but would help everyone and not even glance at me. Slight palpitations emerged in my gut when I turned to him. 

Though technically his senior, I tried not to cower under his frosty stare while asking, "Appetizers Nishant?"

"Strawberry flavoured cream cheese mini-Danishes," A lazy drawl, as if he was better than having to wait for approval before starting his work. I ignored that. I deserved my role, and if his attitude ruined things for me, he could suck it. "Our signature achari paneer tikka served with sour curd green chutney, baked potato fingers coated in green chili oil, pea stuffed mini samosas, slowly smoked tandoori mushroom, Amritsari fish kebabs and raw mango flavoured chicken nuggets."

"Kal bhi fish kebabs serve kiya tha. We need to keep it diverse for our regular stay-ins too."

"Aaj ka Amritsari hai." There it was, a dash of irritation in his tone. "Don't worry, it'll be different."

"Counting on that." A pointed warning. He rolled his eyes and went to his station. "Hitesh, Mukta, main courses?"

"Eggplant coated in cream and grilled, sweet jackfruit curry, paneer lababdar, veg Hong Kong Manchurian paired with chili noodles, and classic butter chicken. Breads mai garlic naan, tandoori roti aur missi roti."

"Paneer adhik rakhna, most people would want that."

"Sure thing boss." Hitesh's baby face glowed when everyone except Nishant cracked a smile at his quip. I fought mine for the sake of appearing humble.

I wasn't.

"Great! Arjun, deserts mai we're doing blueberry tarts, bite sized, dark chocolate mousse and moong dal halwa."

Arjun, everyone's favourite sweet-toothed, gentle giant nodded, padding his way to his station.

The flurry of activity made me switch on auto pilot. The kind where I was hyper aware of my senses while moving around stations, checking on everyone's progress (and getting the side eye from Nishant) before returning to my station. Or rather, Hitesh and Mukta's. Main course always require more hands on deck, and alternating between paneer lababdar and butter chicken wasn't easy, since they had to be cooked in strictly separate vessels.

While the three hours it took for us to finish preparing the entire buffet spread passed easily enough, when time came to start transferring containers, Nishant chose to help me for the first time ever.

"Bhaari hai, aap rehne do mai uthata hoon." He scooped in without warning, putting his hands around the entire wok containing half the amount of paneer lababdar from the stove.

"Kapda lelo garam hai."

"It's okay I can manage."

"Wait for Hitesh and Arjun to come back—"

"Arey mai kar lunga akele!"

"Nishant—" He jerked the wok, piping gravy splashed on his fingers and he lost his grip.

A cling, a thump, and seven kilos of my paneer was on the floor.

~.~

a/n

Writing this made me hungry.

Have you heard similar exchanges similar to Nikhil and Avanti's during arranged marriage conversations? Or are they worse/better?

I thought I'd do bite-sized chapters for this one, you know, 1000-1200 words, but this went on for 1800, which is not a lot but deviates from the plan of this book. 

I still hope that this wasn't as rushed as I felt it while writing. 

Oh and 2022 is here. I'm afraid of wishing people a happy new year, could barely text even my closest friends was so afraid of jinxing their lives. Did you celebrate it this year?  

Either way, have a better year than the past two combined!